Little Boys
by Little Obsessions
Summary: Joel Glikcer meets Mrs. Addams and he just can't help himself. Joel/Wednesday, Gomez/Morticia. None of this belongs to me. TM Charles Addams estate and Paramount Pictures


Joel is, by all accounts, purposes and very normal boundaries, petrified. He has never seen anything like this in the world before, apart from in Amityville and Disneyland. The horrifying house rears up before him, dark and looming over a dank heath. He shudders within himself, still petrified by the fact that the gate swings open unaided. And the fact that the love of his life ( up until now) habituates this place. And tonight, he gets to meet every Addams that habituates the earth. He hadn't wanted to come to this Ball, it was a silly idea to ever come in the first place.

He puts his hand out a few times to knock the door but can't compel himself to do that. He is very, rather annoyed at his parents who refused to drive up to the house and left him to walk up the dirt strewn road. His boots are muddy and his hands are freezing.

So now he stands, his hand poised over the doorbell, shaking slightly. However, there is no requirement for a door bell, the flaking doors creek open on their own. He has not expected what greets him. A huge, inhumane creature stands there - and he is monetarily reminded of the old Universal Horror Monsters that his father has on VCR. But this is no Bella Lugosi, this is real. He squeals inwardly.

"Come in," the monster growls. Yet, there is something kind in his raw looking eyes, a sort of glinting smile. Joel shakes with a shiver of fear though, for the daunting façade is only minor in comparison to the décor. Yet there is a homely heat he has never felt before, even though there is no one in the huge hall of the house. There is a suspiciously real looking stuffed bear and spider webs glitter viciously on the candelabras. Which house black, waxy candles. He is shaking, literally. And now he wishes he had never kept in contact with Wednesday. But she is insistently intelligent and quirky. And horrible. He likes that in a girl.

"Thank you Lurch."

He has never heard anything like it in his life, the voice is low and painfully icy and he does not want to look in the direction of the sound. He looks up to the top of the stairs to see something he finds oddly attractive, yet petrifying all at the same time. She looks like Wednesday, and in fact his first though is that it is her. But now he sees she is older and slightly more aquiline looking - she is Mrs Addams. She is all curves and angles, like Wednesday. But her eyes are larger and her makeup heavier and he movements seem altogether more sure, yet unnatural.

"You must be Joel," she seems to whisper from the very top of the stair. Her voice carries like poison through a blood system, the sounds bouncing off the walls - though she barely speaks above a whisper. He wants to say something but he is captivated by her.

She slithers down the stairs, slowly, painfully slowly and he cannot take his eyes from her. He feels a sudden jolt of guilt at the desire, for this older woman, coursing through him. But he cannot help himself. He is only fifteen, he thinks to himself. And this woman is married but she is smiling at him in a way that makes him think of vital chemicals.

"I - I am," he manages to utter.

Her smile is kind, maternal as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. It seems innaproriate. She reaches forward and places her hands on his shoulders. They are fine and pale, with oddly violent looking scarlet nails. He knows she is married but can't help feel a pang of annoyance at the silvery ring on her wedding finger. She smiles again and presses cool kisses to either of his cheeks. He feels the skin on his acne-cursed skin burn.

"I am pleased to meet you," she whispers, raising herself to full height, he finds her unbelievably overbearing.

He can't help but feel (in his limited experience) that her smile is flirtatious. She raises her eye brow at him.

"How was your journey, dear?"  
"It was fine Mrs. Addams," he whispers quietly.

"Oh, you didn't get caught in the storm," she states with a hint of dissapointment, "Well, you can't have everything."  
"N-n-no," he shakes his head as she smiles again.

"Please," she bends toward him and he tries to divert his eyes from her intense gaze, "Make yourself at home."

"Tish? Darling."

He doesn't really expect this. The man who is crying the absurdly inappropriate moniker for the ethereal creature is suprsisingly ordinary looking. He is wearing a three-piece suit, a silver cravat and there's a cigar bobbing at the side of his mouth, clasped between pearly teeth. He bounces with energy, something that seems lacking in his wife.

He reserves no propriety for guests,

"Hello, cara," he kisses her gently, sending a jolt of irritation through Joel as Mr Addams wraps his arm round his wife's waist. Whish is supernaturally tiny.

"Gomez," she touches his chest and leans toward him, "This is Mr. Glicker."  
Mr. Addams' eyes tightened and if Joel had been perceptive, he would have seen Mrs Addams dig her nails slightly into her husbands chest in warning. However, Joel just thinks Mr Addams has a sight problem.

"Ah, hello Joel…" Mr. Addams extends his hand, "I hope you will enjoy tonight's festivities."

Joel feels that there is some deeper meaning behind this, as Mr. Addams gives him a significant look.

"After all," Mr. Addams turns from him to his wife, who is standing beside him. Looking at her, Joel gets a sudden pang of desire - something he's only come to recognise recently. He feels ridiculously nervous, under her intelligent scrutiny.

"If someone doesn't fit into our family…"

Joel knows a threat when he hears one and he feels the tingle of fear travel through him. Mrs. Addams places her pearly hand on her husbands silk covered chest again, through which Joel can see ripples of muscle. He sees those red talons dig in, in a warning. Again he finds himself flushing with the thought of her doing it to him, digging her nails into his puny, underdeveloped pectorals. He shakes the though, however arousing, from his mind.

"Mother?"

The familiar voice of his sweetheart (though he finds this description of Wednesday altogether unsuitable) comes from the shadows of the cavernous hallway, or maybe from one of the doors leading off the grimy parquet flooring.

He scans the oddly comforting darkness of the house for the familiar silhouette. She is standing in a far away archway, yet her silhouette is somewhat of an anti-climax compared to the other woman who is filling his entire head with thoughts he thought could never exist.

"Hello Darling."  
Wednesday emerges, looking lovely in a dress much like her Mother's.

"Well," Mrs Addams moves away from them as Wednesday comes toward him. Mr Addams nods at him again, but follows his wife nonetheless. Joel could never say he'd blame him.

Joel watches them go, watches Mr Addams not so discreetly slip his hand onto his wife's rear. And he feels an inordinate amount of jealousy. He cannot help but stare.

Wednesday sighs with an inevitability, "So I see you've met my Mother."

Joel has never seen anything so exuberant, or terrifying, in his life. Everywhere he looks there are freaks waltzing their way across the exquisite ballroom. Everyone looks as if they're about to die, or are indeed already dead. Some of them look as if they've been left in the rain too long, other's like they've spent too much time in the sun. Joel, beside them all, looks far too normal. Apart from the bite mark on his cheek, kindly inflicted by Pubert.

"How are you, darling?"

He feels a cool breath on his cheek, before he truly sees her. She has changed since he met her in the hall, into an evidently formal version of the tight sheath he has seen her in all the times before.

"F-fine, Mrs Addams," he stutters, rubbing his hands against his cheap suit.

"Would you like some wine?"  
She flutters a fine hand in the direction of the huge butler, who is standing with a tray of steaming flutes. The poisonous, green substance does not look like any wine he has ever seen in his life.

"N-"

"Morticia?"

Mr Addams is standing behind his wife, a cigar in hand and a manic glint in his eye. Suddenly he pulls her against him, his hands snaking inappropriately around her waist. He reaches round and kisses the alabaster skin of her neck.

"Let's dance."

"Excuse us," she smiles kindly at Joel, though he feels as if all the sticky and poisonous air has been forced out of his lungs.

"Come on," Mr Addams is pulling her away. Joel watches as the older man pulls his wife against him, in a way that makes him want to look away but yet compels him to watch. They fit together perfectly, and that momentary stab of jealousy subsided in an adolescent rage. Suddenly, Mr. Addams backs against the nearest wall, without any protest and begins to fiercely kiss her, only stopping when his youngest son pulls on his sleeve.

"They say that she was so alluring a French sailor killed himself over her."

Wednesday has a startling ability to appear out of nowhere.

"Wha -who?"

Joel tries to sound unconcerned as he averts his eyes from the Mother to the daughter.

"And that my Father's cousin was committed to an asylum because he couldn't bear to think her married to anyone but himself."

"Who?"

Joel thinks it sensible to keep up the charade, but Wednesday is not one to be fooled. She cocks an eye brow.

"My Mother."

"I see."

"So does every man," Wednesday manages a rueful smile, full of understanding finality. He knows what she means, it would be hard to miss Mrs. Addams.

"Can I put my arm around you?" He thinks he loves Wednesday more than anything in the world, he may well be attracted to her Mother, but no one could ever make him feel like Wednesday does. And Mr. Addams he must admit, seems more than capable of seducing a woman, so he figures he must always follow by example.

"No."

"Oh well," he shrugs and is content just to stare at her, because she's just as pretty in her own way.

"I think Mr. Glicker has a little thing for you."

She couldn't be less interested in what he has to say, as his hands travel along her thighs and his lips wander expertly over her neck. She pulls at the silk of his shirt, undoing the buttons with deft experience.

"Morticia?" He laughs, rolling off her. She groans with the immediacy of losing the contact she so loves with her husband.

She rolls onto her stomach, and he begins tracing little shapes on the pale canvas of spine.

"Sorry darling," she smiles languidly, "What did you say?"

"I said I though Mr Glicker had a little thing for you," he laughs.

"Oh, and are you raging with jealousy?" She smiles cruelly.

"No, I understand him," he sighs, "Have you ever watched yourself, you're a murderous flirt."

"Sadly it's not possible," she whispers, with a manic glint in her eye, "But I wager I am."

"Oh, how interesting would that be?" He gets carried away with the idea of being able to detach oneself from one's body in aid of observation.

"Very," she sounds as if she's not remotely interested as she clambers on top of him, straddling him with experienced flirtatiousness.

"Now Mr Addams," she kisses his mouth gently, "Let's not talk about little boys that are no use to me."


End file.
